Inertia of a Lonely Heart
by dutchtulips
Summary: movie-verse, as always. P/MJ. Mary Jane is feeling torn and heartbroken, and lonely without Peter. Inspired by the works in a book of poetry that she unearths, Mary Jane begins writing to Peter, hoping upon hope that he'll answer. . .


**SD ~ **Stan Lee, Marvel, Columbia, what-have-you. Jewel's poems - "You Tell Me" and "The Inertia of a Lonely Heart" [both are from _A Night Without Armor _(a book I _highly_ recommend if you are a fan of poetry)] respectively belong to her. The poem "Compass" (not Jewel's poem, even though she has one entitled that) belongs to me. 

**AN ~ **Those of you who have seen Warner Bros. _The Client, _(based on the book by John Grisham) you will find that I sort of "lifted" a little something from it and put it in this story (you'll figure out what it is eventually if you've seen _The Client_), so just for the record, the idea belongs to the people who wrote the movie. Couldn't resist borrowing it, it just fit so well. :-) Also, Peter lives by himself in this fic. enjoy ;-) 

**Inertia of a Lonely Heart**

****

-dutchtulips- 

*** 

_"I find peace when I'm confused,_

_I find hope when I'm let down,_

_But not in me,_

_In you,_

_It's in you."_

~ Switchfoot, "You" 

*** 

Why did everything have to be such a mess? 

Mary Jane Watson sure didn't know, though she'd tried to unbury the answer for what seemed like a lifetime. It wasn't just that she'd had a crummy home life and boyfriends who were only with her for the shock value - no, this case was exceptional, though, nevertheless, it had her feeling the same old emotions as her past let-downs; the flooding distress and the endless questions that echoed inside her sorrow-filled soul. 

Except there weren't as many questions this time around. 

Although she could sense as much, Mary Jane was still, however, equally in the dark. She knew she loved Peter, loved him more than she ever thought it was possible to love a person. So she had decided to just go for it, to tell him, because - Mary Jane couldn't see any way possible that he didn't love her, too. The man treated her like a queen, like a God-sent, like an angel . . .so how could he not be carrying the torch for her as well? 

Only, it seemingly hadn't been so. Peter had given her the mere offer of friendship, a last heady look, and then walked away. He'd even watched her, in fact, shed a tear in what was utter sadness, while giving her a final look, and then just - left her there. But it didn't make any sense. Peter Parker was much too caring and kind to honestly stomp on her heart and then turn away from her as she cried in hurt and confusion. No, no way. There had to have been an explanation, a reason. . .something. A reason that he had withdrawn from telling, which could only mean it was. . . 

A secret. 

But after all of this time, Mary Jane had somehow deduced what it was. 

Even now, she couldn't be one-hundred-percent sure - after all, nobody can be - about what it was. Mary Jane only knew that she felt like shooting herself in the foot for not being having figured it out sometime ago, when now it seemed to simple. In retrospect, so many memories seemed to jab out at her, and the more she dwelled on them, the more they seemed to fit. Even if Mary Jane was thinking in a biased way - still, it really did fit together. Perfectly, in fact, like all of the colors on a Rubik's cube. And the more she stared at the finished puzzle, the more the same thought kept stabbing at her. Why hadn't he told her? Why did she have to figure it out on her own? 

_Why didn't you tell me?_

__

__All of these thoughts and more were speeding through M.J.'s head like New York's rush hour as she rode home in a taxi from a brief meeting she'd had with her agent. She was hoping he might find her more auditions soon; working at the Moondance forever was simply not something she was going to do. 

Disdainfully, Mary Jane wiped her fist across the cloudy glass window of the cab and stared out at the passing traffic, emitting a half-tired, half-depressed, sigh as she absentmindedly fingered at the pendant on her necklace, which was a tiny brass ship's wheel with a small green compass inside. Peter Parker and his mysterious little secret. . .she almost felt like hating him for deceiving her like that. But Mary Jane loved him far too much to hate him. _Both_ of them, far too much. __

__

__That was the secret. 

"Here you are, ma'am," the taxi driver suddenly said, breaking the fog that was Mary Jane thoughts. He was stopped in front of her apartment building. 

"Thanks." M.J. wearily got out of the car, paid the driver what she owed him, and then climbed the front steps and strode up into her building, and then boarded the elevator to her floor. 

With a jangle of her keys, Mary Jane unlocked her front door and stepped inside the dim, balmy apartment. Quietly she hung her raincoat and purse on the coat rack next to the door and walked further into her small living room, reaching over and clicking on the lamp sitting on the end table, the soft glow of the light casting a comfortable setting. Mary Jane kicked off her sandals and reached for the remote control, flipping on the TV. 

She clicked through the channels for a moment, and then sighed as she gave up and dropped the remote to her coffee table, abandoning the television on _The Weakest Link_. Mary Jane sighed again and absentmindedly tousled her red hair in what seemed like frustration, not bothering to drop down to the sofa and watch, but rather, moved methodically towards her glass-sliding doors, and pulled back the long beige drapes. 

Mary Jane unlocked the doors and stepped out onto her balcony and into the cool night air. She wrapped her arms around herself as she listened to the distant traffic, the perpetual noise that forever echoed in the crispness of New York City. Leaning close to the balustrade, she looked up in hopes of seeing the stars out, the city lights and Manhattan's skyscrapers seemed to be blocking them all out. 

As Mary Jane looked down to scratch her arm, something caught her eye. Something very small was creeping along the balcony rail, coming closer to her fingers that were wrapped around it. Upon closer examination, M.J. realized that it was a spider. 

The little eight-legged creature moved with precision, stopping every so often and then continuing on his way. Mary Jane's heart was thumping as she watched it, but it wasn't because she held any such fears towards it. 

Quite the contrary. 

The spider kept going, delicately crawling over one of Mary Jane's fingers and then at last disappearing underneath the railing and out of sight. Vaguely she wondered where else he was off to. . .and where he might be right now. . . 

_Oh, Peter, why didn't you tell me? _She demanded silently. _Why did you just leave me in the dark? Don't you care about me at all? Don't I matter enough to you to tell me what the matter is? _Her hands tightened around the balustrade. _I wish you might just talk to me, and not shun me off into the darkness when you claim to care about me - telling me to know that I'd be safe, and that you'd always be there for me. . ._

__

__At that moment, Mary Jane clenched her jaw, unable to fight down a sudden surge of frustration and madness that had grown inside of her. _And what, with I not having seen or heard from you in weeks. . .A fine job you're doing._

__

__She sighed yet again, and then turned and slipped back into the warmth of her apartment, closing the glass-sliding doors tightly behind her and pulled closed the lofty drapes. Turning around, Mary Jane stared from the TV to the couch and back again, considering, but then shook her head and slipped quietly off to her bedroom to get some pajamas and soothe her tired body with a hot bath. 

Leaving her room after grabbing some clothes, Mary Jane turned for the exit and there she smacked right into her curio shelf that stood at the doorway, knocking a few things from it to the floor and hitting her shin on the sturdy oak wood. 

She was already in a lousy mood, and so M.J. didn't bother to suppress a curse that flew from her throat. Hastily she rubbed the spot where she'd hit her leg, knowing for sure there'd be a bruise there by next morning. After a minute she left it be, and tossed the pajamas she'd been carrying to a nearby chair to gather the things that had fallen from her curio shelf. 

A glass flower paperweight. . .a box of Kleenex. . .some pencils. . .and. . . 

Mary Jane stared at the slightly battered box for a moment after picking it up from the carpet, recognizing it as a gift one of her old school friends had given her some years ago. It was quite a wonderful book of poetry, something M.J.'d had her eye on at the time she'd received it. Even now she kept it around, finding it to be quite nice for bedtime reading. 

The volume was creased in different places where Mary Jane had read her favorites over and over again and, as she held it closer, pulling open the front cover, the book fluttered open in her hands in one particular place it had been pleated, apparently the passage a past favorite of hers. Mary Jane stared down at the words of the poem, entitled "All The Words", her heartbeat kicking in just a little bit faster as she slowly understood. 

*** 

Dusk in Manhattan. The day had been a long and hard one for many, the demand of their daily jobs never seeming to let up in a place as busy as this. For a vast number, the only relief of the day seemed to come when they could leave the office behind, drive themselves, hail a cab, or board the subway for the ride home. And this for sure did not exclude one particular college student whose work consisted of photographing Mr. Majestic Spider-man for his Mr. Brash-as-hell Employer, who was now currently emerging from the subway platform and back above ground to the streets. 

The subway was definitely not to Peter Parker the best nor quickest way to travel. Oh, he knew what _was_ though, all right - but it seemed only reasonable that he make the effort to maintain some sort of normalcy when he could be seen as just plain old Peter Parker. But then again, when had his life _ever_ been normal? Even though it had been at one point in time. . .but he really could remember that anymore. 

Oh, hell. Why not use his spinnerets? The spider bite had surely altered him as unusual as Peter could be and still be human, so why not press it on? If that bite was going to make him terribly abnormal, he'd might as well just push it to the full extent and be so whenever possible. 

But he'd let that thought influence him once before, and look where it'd gotten him. Alone and desolate, from here to Siam. 

Oh, just damn it all to hell. 

Peter sighed, shrugging the strap of his camera bag back onto his shoulder, it giving him signs of slipping off. Turning the corner, he fished into his coat pocket for his keys and took them out. Brushing through the entrance of his apartment building and climbed up the stairwell to his floor and apartment. 

Peter's brow furrowed as his piercing blue eyes fell upon his front door. Just below the brass number on the door, a sheet of folded stationary was taped on it, the front bearing his name in red ink and neat cursive. Slowly he pulled the paper from his door and started to read from it, simultaneously shoving his key into the lock and letting himself into his apartment. In the same hand, a certain someone had written the words: 

_All the words I wish your fingers could feel_

__

_all the times I've wished_

_you could know_

_the silent sorrow_

_lying stiff in my throat_

_like cold_

_and broken teeth_

_I wish you could hear_

_the child that cries_

_in my flesh and makes_

_my bones ache_

__

_**I wish you could speak to my fear**_

_****_

_****I wish you could hold me_

_in your arms like oceans_

_and soothe what my muscles remember_

_all the bruises, all the sour hope_

_all the screams and scraped knees_

_the cloudy days so dark_

_I wondered if my eyes_

_were even open_

__

_The days that I felt_

_like August, and that I, too_

_would soon turn_

_to Fall_

__

_~ Jewel Kilcher_

__

_M.J._

__

__Peter blinked, walking slowly into his living room and dropping into the nearest chair. Though he'd finished reading the poem, his hands still clutched the paper and his eyes remained glued to the words written upon it. A moment later, he felt his muscles fall limp and Peter slumped down into his chair, a miserable feeling - one he knew so awfully well - rising up from within him and making every nerve in his body aware of it. 

He really did hate this. All these years of loving Mary Jane to pieces though it was always edged in angst because he'd never been able to have her. . .and then finally the chance was standing before his eyes, and he didn't take it. And now that terrible anguish was stronger than ever. . .and for what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He'd hurt everyone else unintentionally. . .but then he went and hurt Mary Jane, the one he cared for the most, but _on purpose. . . ._

_How is that supposed to fix anything? _Peter wondered to himself, closing his eyes. _Have I got to go around hurting **everyone **on purpose now, if I keep using that same excuse as I did for doing it to Mary Jane? Is this what Uncle Ben would have wanted? Would **he **would've wanted me to hurt people? And what about Mom and Dad? Would they want me screwing everything up on purpose just because I'm afraid it might happen on accident? This isn't how it's supposed to be. This isn't how it's supposed to be at all. . . ._

__

__Peter felt his throat close, and he shut his eyes tighter as he realized what it meant. The next thing he knew, rivulets of tears were cascading over his face as he held himself awkwardly, weeping bitterly. Burying his face in his hands, Mary Jane's letter fluttering to his lap, Peter leaned against his knees with his elbows, shaking slightly. 

However, he didn't make a single sound. Silent tears, Peter had grown to call them, because lately he'd come to know them all too well. 

*** 

Mary Jane had been as jittery as it was possible to be lately. It had been a mere three days since she'd copied down that poem and taped it to Peter's front door, and yet, she'd heard no response from him. Even though she wasn't really sure whether he'd reply or not, M.J. couldn't help but hope every time she checked her post office box or heard the phone ring while she was at home in her apartment. None of these times had there been Peter Parker's penmanship adorning an envelope or his sweet voice echoing from the other end of the line, and every time it wasn't, she felt more and more depressed. 

So she'd decided to write him again. 

It was Wednesday, and Mary Jane's Moondance shift had ended sometime ago. Dusk was retreating fast, and before she would know it, another of Manhattan's nights would be setting in in no time. So she'd rushed home to make it before nightfall, changed her clothes, and copied down a new poem - another of her old favorites - to deliver to Peter's apartment. Mary Jane almost felt like one of the skittish schoolgirls, writing a love letter to a silly schoolboy - with the exception however, that she was not feeling the least bit giddy, in any real sense. 

Clutching the piece of stationary in her lap as she rode in the back of the taxi, Mary Jane leaned against the tattered seat and glanced out the window, wondering if Spider-man were out there somewhere. Of course, though, he always was - always finding another thief or mugger to knock the stuffing out of, and forever being savior to the victims. 

"I hope you're okay, Pete," she whispered to herself, leaning her head against the window as she reached up and started to play with the little compass on her neck chain again. 

Suddenly a thought a occurred to her and Mary Jane looked down at the tiny brass ship's wheel. She could remember what it had made her think of when she'd seen it - how, in all of those sailor stories, the captain of the ship would get caught in a storm and would only have the wheel and the compass to guide him the way home. And Mary Jane had felt that, with it, she could find her way home too through all the hardships she would come to face, and had - the mental abuse by her dad, her failed relationships, her unrequited love for Peter. . . 

Now, she realized, the little compass inside the ship's wheel held more meaning than ever before. 

*** 

_The world is full of cripples_

_and endless nights_

_and broken fruit_

_and calls that never come through_

_and restless dreams_

_that fear being awake_

_and stars that lose themselves_

_and waves that are always leaving_

_and bitten mouths_

_and lonely bars_

_and rosy nipples_

_rosy as dawn_

_rosy as the first blush of youth_

_and tired people_

_and lonely hearts_

_opening, orbiting_

_crashing into open mouths_

_and hungry eyes_

_and empty-handed lovers;_

_the inertia of loneliness_

_a miserable force_

__

_~ Jewel Kilcher_

__

_M.J._

__

__Peter's emotions swelled as he read the poem. It had been on his door, another one, when he'd gotten home that night, and seeing it had caused a dynamic pang in his stomach. The feeling was hard to describe exactly, but the whole notion that Mary Jane had struck again was really all that it took to induce it. 

Closing the front door and hanging his keys on a hook next to the buzzer, Peter wearily ambled into the kitchenette, pulling open the fridge in the semi-darkness to retrieve a bottle of water. When he looked down and saw that the paper with the poem on it was still clutched in his hand, his thoughts rocketed off, causing him to completely forget about the water he was after. He closed the fridge door and leaned up against, sighing painfully. 

The new poem she'd left for him basically said it all. Weren't he and Mary Jane on the same wavelength? They were both lonely and lost, hurt and confused. Peter thwacked his palm to his forehead disdainfully. Him and his stupid brain. . .couldn't he see how they needed each other? Couldn't he figure out that Mary Jane was very crucial indeed to his life if he had any chance of survival? 

_I should've. _Peter thought, closing his eyes. _I've been too busy trying to ignore it to really see._

__

__His eyes fluttered back open, stood there for a moment longer, and then slowly slipped into his living room, switching on the overhead fan to circulate some air, and then, sighing, began to fold up the letter to take to his bedroom, to put with the other. 

As he did so, however, Peter noticed there was more writing on the back. It was just another mere line, but this was definitely not part of the poem. Turning over the paper, he stared down at the one sentence. 

_I know who you are._

__

__He started, nearly swallowing his tongue. There was just no way Mary Jane knew Spider-man was really him, it just couldn't be possible. Or maybe it was. . .Peter had been a little careless from time to time where she was concerned; maybe somehow she could've figured it out. But. . .no, no, she couldn't. . .she - she. . .couldn't. . . 

Peter dropped down into an armchair, seeming to be in a trance as he stared down at the carpet. "She knows. . ." He whispered, devastated. "She does know who I am." 

But then again. . .what was he playing at? Deep down, wasn't Peter always half-hoping Mary Jane would know about the second life he led? Wasn't that why he'd allowed her to catch a glimpse of himself that night in the alley, in hopes that she'd stumble onto his secret? Wasn't he really just playing a game of chicken with himself? 

Suddenly he bolted up from the chair and strode off towards his bedroom, his decision made. Lying the poem Mary Jane had written him atop his bureau, Peter turned and started undoing the buttons on his shirt as he changed clothes, popping them out of their holes and revealing the vermilion fabric underneath, bearing the raised black gossamer design and the black spider over his heart. . . . 

*** 

Mary Jane disdainfully sauntered up the corridor towards her apartment that same evening, her head down and watching her feet as they moved her in the direction of her front door. Without so much as a sound from her keys, M.J. unlocked her apartment and slipped quietly inside, still staring at her shoes. She had just hung her purse on the coat rack when a sudden voice caused her to gasp violently. 

"Mary Jane." 

Her neck snapped up and she found herself staring at Peter Parker, who was standing just inside her sliding-glass doors. Clutching her heart, she said in amazement, "Where in the world did you come from?" 

"You left them unlocked," he replied, gesturing towards the doors leading out to her balcony. 

"Did I?" She said absently looking at the sliding-glass doors, and then glued her stare back onto him. "But - but, how. . .?" 

To her surprise, he smiled and shrugged. "I took it from your last letter that you didn't really have to ask." 

His words eased a smile out of Mary Jane, though it was a very watery one. As her eyes started to well up, Peter stepped up closer to her, close enough that he could reach over and take her hand, which he did. 

"Do you really know?" 

M.J. hesitated for a moment, breathing deep, and then slowly nodded. "I do." 

His eyes softened, and he took hold of her other hand now, his body moving even closer to hers, and then, without warning, Peter swept her up into a warm, tight embrace, burying his face in her beautiful red hair. 

Mary Jane hugged back, never wanting to let go of him as she nestled her cheek against his warm shoulder. It felt like ecstasy to be able to hold him like this again, to be able to have the only man she'd ever truly loved so very close and so lovingly in her arms, where Mary Jane knew inside that was where Peter sincerely belonged. 

"I love you, Spider-man," she whispered tearfully to him. 

He said nothing; Peter just held onto her tighter. Those words had melted into him like the first warm days of the Spring, and - as he embraced her lovingly and warmly, he knew that this was how it was supposed to be. To protect her, to love her, to have her with him as he'd had so many times in his dreams. He needed her, and she needed him. 

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Peter whispered back, "I love you too, Mary Jane." 

Abruptly she loosened her embrace on him to look up into his eyes; her startling green ones were already flowing freely with tears. "I _knew_. . .I _knew_ you did. . ." 

He smiled down at her, but then his expression grew somber as she said pointedly, in a very soft voice, "You're. . .you're in pain, aren't you? I mean, with the way you were. . .the day in the graveyard. . ." And then she asked the question she'd been dying to ask him since forever. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

Peter's eyes grew sad, and he sighed. "I was. . .scared. I loved you so much that I was afraid of loosing you because of. . of who I am." He paused, abruptly averting his eyes. Then, almost to himself, he said, "I've made all the ones I love pay the price because of who I am. . .Uncle Ben, Aunt May. . .Harry. . ." He looked back up at her then. "I didn't want that to happen to you, too, so. . .I decided that it only made sense to let you go." 

That sentence struck Mary Jane in an ironic way as she became aware that Peter's arms were still wrapped around her. Returning his glance, though, she said, "But you'd already hurt me too, by doing that." 

He nodded. "I realize that, now." 

Her eyes were full of sympathy as she gazed at him. So this was it. In reality, Peter was just as broken and hurt as she was. . .just as lost and confused. . .and somehow, in some way, she'd known that all along, since the very minute it had all fallen into place that he was Spider-man. . . 

There was a pause as Mary Jane wiped her eyes and reached into the pocket of her skirt quite suddenly, drawing out another piece of folded stationary. "I wrote a poem for you." She looked back up, shrugging a stray lock of hair from her face. 

"Really?" He said softly. 

"Yeah," she whispered back, opening the paper. Slowly and quietly, in her tender voice, Mary Jane started to recite her poem for Peter, looking up at him every so often. 

_"Never could I begin to imagine_

_allowing you into the cold sea_

_of life_

_without me beside you._

__

_I look into your eyes_

_a hundred times, and I know_

_you want me in your arms;_

_my red hair spilling _

_over your shoulder_

_as I rest my head against it,_

_my green eyes sparkling_

_with a love reserved _

_only for you,_

_and the comfort of my voice_

_that has the sound_

_that makes you feel warm and content._

__

_You don't have to be alone,_

_secluding yourself,_

_drifting through life's ocean_

_without anyone to cling to,_

_and without anything to save you_

_from losing yourself _

_in the end._

__

_If you'll just let me near,_

_allow me in your life and_

_love me freely,_

_I can be your compass_

_and stand by you until _

_the end of eternity -_

_so you'll never be alone,_

_and never lose your way again."_

__

__Peter's eyes were filled with awe at the words Mary Jane - his beautiful, wonderful, lovely Mary Jane, had woven for him. Suddenly he felt overcome with all of his love for her, and was at a loss for words completely as she gently tucked the poem into his shirt pocket. 

And then, very carefully, M.J. unclasped the little brass ship's wheel from around her neck, took hold of Peter's wrist, and put the necklace inside, the tiny green compass inside bobbing around upon impact. As he stared down at it, Peter heard her whisper, "That's so you'll never lose your way again." 

He wrapped his fingers around the compass and looked back up at Mary Jane, his eyes blurring over, and smiled. She returned it, grinning happily as tears of her own began spilling from her eyes even more than before, and the next moment Peter had wrapped his arms tightly around her again, capturing her mouth with his in a passionate, loving kiss, knowing deep down that he did need her so much more than he ever thought. 

*** 

**el fin**__

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